God's Theory
by Stradivari
Summary: [Psychological] Theory: a reasonable or scientifically acceptable explanation for a fact or event that has not been proven. We are forced to believe this. We are called to Faith and Love for a theory. We are to be silent against it. Only when we speak up


GOD'S

T H E O R Y

-Stradivari-

**:i:**

Startling, how your dreams could really come true. Your thoughts, be it practical or fantasy, be it saintly or evil, good or disastrous. All humans have dreams, desires, hopes, ambitions and longings. Its just we never truly believe they could become reality.

I didn't.

A believer. The term does not apply to the faithful, the honorable, and the martyrs of Christianity or indeed any other God. It is for the people who separate themselves from the mass of others, those who 'rebel' against the overlords be it human or religion. They are the sheep who claims no Shepard as their master. It is the individual such as this who is the believer.

It is not those who follow the scientists as their priests and science as their god, who believe and can not really understand the statistics put before them and the numbers they observe. It is not those who think logic is the simple minded truth of algebraic theory. Because as we all know; or perhaps don't; theory is the reasonable or scientifically acceptable explanation for a fact or event…which has not been proved to be true.

The_ theory_ of Christianity, of all religion, those who preach to be the sons and daughters of God whoever he might be, those who have not seen him, have not proven such so that it could be more than a theory, more than the weak fantasy of mind for those who can not stand apart, who cling to the land like animals to their hives.

Only those who stand, alone, on each of their single ice floes survive. And only then, can you truly die.

Individuals, single persons in history who craft their own future, manipulating Fate in such a way that she is bound, powerless to their bidding.

Such is the will of men.

Men who are their own gods, who preach their own religion and has not saviour, no Messiah to whom the ten commandments are paving stones for them to walk upon and take no heed. Men who do not need God's forgiveness, his wisdom or his goodwill. Men who die young, who die of their creator's envy.

Such is the will of God.

For he who made us to the likeness of himself, he is not but a man, no better and no worse than mankind. But the only man who made and still make the destinies of others, who made them such so they too would have the power to overrule. But like all emperors, he fears his subjects' power.

So the best must die and the rest will be nothing more than reflections in the water, easy to destroy with all but the flick of a pebble. It ripples and disappears in swirls of uncertain colour, until nothing is left but clear emptiness, like the remnants of a dream, the remnants of the rainbow you once held in your hand. Now that too is gone.

It seems like neither a play, not Shakespeare nor the ballets of Tchaikovsky, but the intricate balance of two parts, two roles not so much as good and evil but more from the composer's point of view. The desirable and the unfortunate. Perhaps implying the fact that the theory of all occurrences being created by the mind is actually true. But like all theories, it has never been proven so or otherwise and until the day it does, it will cease to exist as such.

It is like sacrifice, carefully thought out by Man, where gain gains sacrifices and sacrifice sacrifices gain. But always it seems to be tilted, downstream where the water never flows against the gravity, down down down forever in descent, long compared to the rise of particles so small it is not noticeable to count, not enough to be the other half of the pendulum, to keep it swinging in time to yourself. It gives one the illusion of an everlasting nightmare.

We were born pessimistic. Or made that way.

All hope and success are short, brief and thin; it veils the abyss, the sudden drop that you will one day fall down. It masks the darkness of guilt, the solutions that appear before you only when regret is all you can buy. It seems to be the spite of the force which controls the stars. It is false.

A theory and nothing more.

Perhaps that is why men can never be satisfied. Not by power, nor wealth or anything they desire. Because once they have it in their grasp, they will cast is aside because they have gained it, their eyes already locked on another goal. Another dream.

It was like this that I cast her away. Perhaps it is a blessing. Or a curse. For I do not have the chance to reclaim that dream anymore.

It is not the greed of human nature that condemns us. It's the guilt. The success of having gained that desire, that yearning…yet lost something in return. Lost in such a way that no amount of gold can trade it back, no amount of sacrifice not matter how great. I could not even offer my life

It is gone and only with the grasp of a miracle can it return in which time leaves nothing but a memory. Nothing but a reflection that dissolves at my touch; that flows back into the thousands of other dreams that I had cast away; that stood, fading into the background of my life. But always there, perhaps waiting for the single moment when they could come back to judge my soul. I do not believe in Hell. But neither do I believe in Heaven.

A life wasted away, and not even the figure on the ice would help me, not even though he looks at me, eyes clear and blue. He has lost all faith, drifting further and further away; borne on an unforgiving tide. This tide goes out, yet I know it will not come back in.

I was not one of those who stood alone.

I was one of those fools who clung to the land, who followed a fantasy. I was one of those many who found out too late that fantasy was something that lasted forever. Only 'forever' meant a long time. Not eternal, not glorious.

In the end, I knew all this, he granted me all of this and the ice finally broke away so I could sail into the open.

But he gave them to me too late. Because I was not worth it, I was no threat to him. He took him away from me first. Because he was one of the believers. Destined to fade. I can not say 'die'. I am destined to die. Yet so is he.

Then after he had cut loose the anchor he told me _why_. He told me _how. _He told me it was _my_ fault.

But he did not tell me what to do with the hammer. He did not tell me the chain was still there, and the fool I was, I could not see. He did not tell me 'no' like a conscience should. He did not stop me as I shattered the links. He did not stop me as I continued to break them one by one. And the fool I was, I waited for the command.

He did not tell me to turn even when he was in reach. Needless to say, he did not say goodbye when he disappeared over the horizon.

He allowed me to laugh.

And only when we went our separate ways, east to west, north to south, home to business, gold to gold, except at the dining table; did he whisper:

_It's no theory._

**:i:**

**Author's Notes:** Open ended and multi-perspective. The majority of this is actually from Artemis the First but is intended for Artemis the Second and a few others. (Intended but the author is not sure if it was even noticed…0.o) I have a lot of notes, but they would bore you to death. Hope (again) there are not too many typos.

This was originally _Faces in the Water _but as you can see (can you?) I have edited various typos and changed a few sections. Hope you liked it!

Please Review!


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